Solstice
by C.J.Ellison
Summary: A modern retelling of 'The Nutcracker'. There was only one thing Jamie Bennett wanted for Christmas that year. To fulfil this selfless request, Jack is sent into the fantasy world of the Kingdom of Sweets to find the elusive summer spirit trapped within its story- and ends up accidentally dragging an unsuspecting teenage girl along for the adventure. [Jack/OC, hints of Jamie/Pippa]
1. Prologue: The Prince of Winter

_A/N: Alright, so this my second- no wait- third time posting this. I, um- I'm a perfectionist… Um. Yeah._

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Prologue  
_The Prince of Winter_

Stepping out of the warmth of the first-class cabin and into the half-light of the midwinter evening, she suddenly realised that she had forgotten just how gloriously _cold_ it could get in England.

An icy gust of wind lashed out at the girl- a slim, solitary figure clad in full renegade black, no older than sixteen- as she emerged from the airplane under the darkening ivory skies, whipping her stiff body awake and stealing her breath from her lungs. Shivering violently, the girl stumbled down the last few steps of the airstairs, the corrugated metal clattering hollowly under her staggering footfalls, and began hurrying towards the terminal. The heels of her boots snapped and scraped solidly on the frozen asphalt, teeth clicking in the chill as she glanced up across the horizon. The sun had almost set behind the heavy cloud cover, its dying rays cast a few watercolour shades of coral-red along London's skyline, darkness pouring into the void and deepening the sky to shades of murky grey and bleached midnight even as she watched. Suddenly she was immensely glad she had dressed at least somewhat warmly that morning; less than a minute outside and her hands, clutching the strap of her army-navy surplus bag, were already numbing, the cold seeping through her leather jacket and skinny jeans like ice water.

Now _this_ was what winter should feel like.

She ducked through the entrance to Gate Three Arrivals swiftly, windswept and alert, exposed skin tingling and her long, dark blonde hair unravelling from its already loosened knot. Sweeping her fringe out of her eyes, she hitched the worn strap of her bag over her shoulder and braved the masses, carving her way through. Heathrow Airport was teeming with the heaving December crowds, the panels of the vast windows fogged with swirls of condensation that glowed underneath the artificial lighting. Dodging a doughy couple drifting aimlessly across her path, the teenager bit back a yawn, hunting for a flash of distinctive red amongst the countless shades of brunette and blonde. It was a ten hour flight from California to the UK- a journey that she had handled with grace eighteen months ago- but combined with the effects of the wild house party that her friends had thrown her as a parting gift, and only two hours sleep the following night, she was now operating solely on sugar, caffeine and her last remaining dregs of adrenaline. She reached up to rub her temple in frustration, further mussing her tangled hair. Her patience was rapidly draining, a familiar needling heat surging up inside her chest, making her blood prickle restlessly.

The girl bit her lip firmly, distracting herself and smoothing her expression into a cool mask, willing herself not to think about punching the various inanimate objects that caught her eye as she passed. After all- knowing her sometimes unpredictable temper, combined with the effects of sleep deprivation, she might actually do it and wind up breaking her hand. And a trip to Accident and Emergency was an early Christmas present to herself that she could probably do without.

_Stop it. _Focus_. Cool it down and remember the questions. What do you want? What do you have? How can you use the latter to get the former?_

"Rachel! _Rach_!"

Hearing her name being called above the deafening clamour, she pivoted sharply on her heel, searching for the source. _Oh. Well, never mind, then._

Out loud, the teenager couldn't help but let herself laugh in relief as a glamorous and shamelessly exuberant woman darted through the crowds towards her, a mass of lovely spiral curls bouncing on her shoulders, burgundy coat fluttering with her brisk gait. With a brilliant smile, the sixteen year old let her bag drop unceremoniously to the white-tiled floor- and before she could take another step she was enveloped in a familiar embrace of warm silk, fragrant coils of coppery hair, and the scent of a fine Parisian perfume and charcoal-cedar pencils. Instantly she relaxed, the tension unravelling like taut spools of thread from her shoulders.

"Ana."

There were very few reasons that Rachel Juliette Archer would tolerate international air travel during holiday season. And one of them was to spend it with Anahera Stuart, her godmother and a fashion designer doyenne- the only family she had known since she was five years old.

"It's so good to see you!" Anahera hummed out and stepped back almost immediately, tilting Rachel's chin up with a touch of her fingertips and examining her with a smile. Rachel couldn't help but return the favour. Even as a young child, she had never felt the need to cling to anyone, metaphorically or literally- as Anahera told it, she had been fiercely independent since the moment she had been old enough to walk, and Rachel admitted that physical contact made her feel smothered most of the time- and of course, her godmother took the quirk in her stiletto-heeled stride as she did anything and everything else.

"California has been good for you," the redheaded woman commented approvingly, smoothing back Rachel's feathered fringe from her face, blue eyes dancing. "You're prettier than ever."

Rachel arched an eyebrow. "Uh, Ana, you saw me- what? Three weeks ago?"

"And? What does that have to do with anything?" Anahera scoffed teasingly. She let her hands drop nevertheless, her look of joy morphing into sympathy. "You do look a… a _little_ rough, though, Rach. I knew we should have booked a flight to New York instead, it's too long a flight straight from CA." She shook her head, her curls springing about her face. "You could have stayed in a hotel for the night instead, headed for the UK in the afternoon-"

Rachel immediately decided not to breathe a word about the dusk-till-dawn house party, or the fact that she had essentially been awake for two nights straight. Not that Ana would mind; in fact, she would probably just laugh and say that it was about time Rachel started acting her age.

"No, it's okay, I'm fine. Just not a fan of the world's busiest airport during holiday season," she stated flatly, barely avoiding an overstuffed duffle bag as it swung past on the shoulder of an oblivious passenger. "If Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, apparently some people didn't get the memo."

Anahera threw a nettled look at the man's back. "Well, then, let's get you home. Why don't you head out to the car, and I'll pick up your suitcases from baggage claim."

"What? Ana, no- I told you, it's fine. I can-" Rachel began to protest, but as the world lurched and spun around her briefly, she bit her tongue and realised that, for once, she should just do as she was told.

Anahera gave her absurdly detailed instructions on where to find the car, and within two minutes Rachel had promptly forgotten half of them. But since the leaf-green paint job and custom licence plates of Anahera's beloved vehicle made it ridiculously hard to miss, even in the growing darkness and the vast outdoor parking lot, it hardly mattered. Rachel found the car within thirty seconds and leaned back on her elbows against the gleaming hood to wait, unzipping her jacket with a rasp of tiny metal teeth and peeling the hot form-fitted leather away from her skin, letting it and her carry-on bag fall to her feet. The north wind immediately rose to assault her overheated flesh, leaching her warmth and leaving her feeling burnished clean from the stagnant air of the plane. Looking up lazily, she saw the clouds on the horizon had turned rusty sable above the tower-block hotels that clustered around the airport- whether the strange colour came from the last of the sun's fire or from the light of the streetlamps bleeding into the sky, she couldn't quite tell- the rest fathomlessly cerulean blue and starless.

"Mm. Some welcome home," she commented dryly, working her hair free of its tie, too tired to care if anyone walking by overheard her taking to herself. Let them think she was crazy; she probably was, considering all the evidence.

After all, normal and fully sane teenage girls don't spend all night reading old books of fairy tales and talking to the moon from their bedroom window.

Rachel sighed, pulling the last knot open and letting her tresses fall down her back in a soft, tousled sheet of glossy caramel waves. "Seriously?" She asked wearily, working the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, loosening the tight coils, dark eyes sliding shut. "I mean, is a _little_ bit of snow too much to ask for when a girl comes all the way home for Christmas? Where's that old coot Winter when you need him, huh?"

That was when it happened.

She had just let her head drop back, breathing in the icy air deeply and letting it scour out her lungs, when something cold touched the tip of her nose. Startled, her eyes shot open and she reached up to touch the spot- and when she bought her hand away, a small droplet of cold water clung, trembling, to her fingertips.

For a moment, all Rachel could do was stare in confusion, the cogs of her mind clogged by the desire to sleep and refusing to let her think clearly. But then it happened again- something cold alighted on the curve of her cheek, like a tiny, icy kiss- then another on her shoulder, on the tip of her boot, her bag, her collarbone, her outstretched hand. She looked up in disbelief and saw a swathe of clouds suddenly obscuring the skies, a flurry of snowflakes eddying down towards her in whorls of fragmented white; the shards of intricate ice gathered in her hair, clinging to the gold strands like crumbs of crystal, melting as they fell on her arms and shoulders. The snowfall was becoming thicker by the second, already clumping on the tarmac and sending tremors up her spine.

Suddenly, as a blast of cold wind wrapped around her and the feathery flakes battered against her skin, Rachel realised what was happening.

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound ringing like bells across the lot. "_Thank you_!" She cried out, blowing a kiss to the white-stained sky and giggling, her heart light in the cage of her chest. For a split second, Rachel could swear she heard a boy laughing and whooping along with her, the sound rich and velvet and carefree.

But that was probably just the wind.

* * *

The tall, slender shadow of a boy stood on the brink of a skyscraper's roof, the wind sweeping up and tugging at his loose sweatshirt, the city streets sprawled out before him in a web of concrete studded with the brilliantly orange and white specks of streetlamps. The faint light traced the edge of an elegant jaw and a flash of beautiful, unruly silver-white hair beneath the frost-encrusted fabric of his hood, a long staff held loosely in his right hand, the gnarled curve of its crook tilting towards the sidewalk below. Delicate, contrived curls of fern frost blossomed beneath his bare feet, spilling over the edge of the rooftop and embroidering the plain walls like patterns of solidified stardust. The boy stood with an uncharacteristic stillness, patiently waiting and suspending himself in a fragile balance- holding back, at least for the moment.

Presently, the north wind picked up around the immortal boy, and a smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

"Ah, ah, ah, not yet," he said softly, the cadence of his voice playfully admonishing. "You've gotta let it breathe if you're going to get the timing just right. Be patient, okay?"

The wind willingly obeyed his request, softening to a breeze as the boy nearly flipped his staff vertical and rested it over his shoulder casually, his smile growing into a smirk.

"This one… is going to be _spectacular_."

A mild cyclone swooped around him in agreement. Although it was always cold somewhere in the world, true winter- the season of hard frost and short snow-bright days and iced window panes- always hit it's hardest from the late October until the last spring melt of April. And of course, every year, its spirit rose to the occasion with unalloyed flair. For example, only yesterday the United Kingdom's weather forecast service had made the foolhardy mistake of predicting a 'light dusting of snow' for the days (three, negating tonight) leading up to the twenty fifth. Furthermore, they had advised the public that it wasn't cold enough to sustain what little snowfall there may be, so it probably wouldn't be a white Christmas this year.

Up on the rooftops, the boy grinned, mischief sparking deep within his striking azure eyes. They should really stop trying to guess what the weather was going to be like when he was around. Most other spirits might shrug such a thing off.

Jack Frost took it as a challenge.

"Alright," he breathed, throwing back his hood. It was almost sunset, strands of red light cuffing the clouds on the horizon, and Jack could feel his creation rolling in in ever closer to his position- one great, perfectly orchestrated mass, impatiently awaiting his command. "It's time. _Let's do this_!"

The wind whistling in his ears, Jack leapt from the edge of the roof, plummeting sharply, the ground rushing up to meet him. A column of air caught him in free-fall and propelled him upwards and into the night skies, laughing and whooping; he spiralled effortlessly into the clouds, plateauing and running his fingers through the condensed fog, water gathering on his hand and sleeve. Grinning, he let the droplets scatter to the winds and watched them freeze in mid-air, before turning sharply and jetting in a wide circle, whipping the surrounding clouds into a maelstrom of leaden mist and biting wind. He could feel a wild excitement mounting in his chest, exhilaration lapping at his lungs and leaving him laughing breathlessly. _Light dusting?_ He thought, eyes glinting.

_Wait until they get a taste of _this_!_

The air churned, the clouds darkened, the looming roof of the snowstorm poured in overhead; its swirling hems drew more water in as the miniature blizzard billowed and swelled, simply begging to be released upon the unsuspecting earth. The winter spirit slowed, hovering, gently coaxing forth the flurry with a stroke of his staff, the colour and brightness of his irises almost too intense to bear against the white of his flesh and the dark steel of the skies.

Smirking, Jack beckoned the disk of slate-grey cloud with a single, slow curl of his finger.

The storm shuddered, and suddenly surged forth. Jack dove forwards as the thick fog cascaded across the heavens; pure, cold energy rose to the surface of his skin and flooded into the twisted wood of the staff gripped tightly in his hands. His eyes glowed and throbbed with an ethereal light, a jagged bolt of icy, electric blue cracked through the clouds- and the storm shattered.

Snowflakes fell thick and fast in a blinding veil of white, their creator following them down and tearing through the city. Soaring effortlessly, chased by frozen torrents of air, Jack grinning in delight at the astonished faces and shrieks of surprise of those caught outside, sending the north wind snapping scarves and long hair into faces and blowing away hats. Intricate crystal patterns blossomed from every tap of his staff, gliding across windows and concrete and painted doors. He raced through busy streets and across car parks, blowing a kiss of ice towards a blonde girl staring, entranced, at the snowy skies, before rising, sharply, into the midst of his beautiful storm.

"_Season's greetings_!" He cried, his arms thrown open. "_From me to you, city of London!_" Jack swept into a deep bow and zipped away, grinning. His work done, confident that all would progress just fine in his absence, the prince of winter turned and began to fly north.


	2. Chapter I: Aurora Borealis

_A/N: Oh- hey! You stuck around for the first real chapter? Wow, thanks! (Although, now I'm feeling a lot of pressure to get this right… ahaha… crud. Breathe, just breathe…) Anyway, as ever, please enjoy. And by the way 'ideal'nyy' means 'perfect' in Russian, if that wasn't obvious._

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Chapter I  
_Aurora Borealis_

Beads of warm golden light glowed through the colossal icicles that dripped over the walls of the great arctic palace, sealing it where it was built into the shoulder of the sea-ice cliff; turrets capped in iron and domes with bronze spires jutted out of the pristine snow, clustered on the peak and beyond the bridge arching over the crevasse, the shadows of the winding runway tunnels flickering under the glassy ice. Snowflakes were gathering at the corners of the windows, drifting gently from the midnight skies as Jack flew overhead, admiring the view. Few dared venture into Nicholas St. North's haven so close to Christmas; whilst the big man in red always welcomed guests with open arms and a booming laugh, the frantic atmosphere that gripped the factory as Christmas Eve drew closer was simply overwhelming. And North- so passionate about his work, so dedicated to the wonder he channelled into his gifts, from the simplest rag doll to the most beautifully engineered flying contraptions- was unbearable in his vehemence that every little thing must be '_ideal'nyy_!' Of the other Guardians, only Jack was safe to enter- that had both agreed it was sensible for the two of them to collaborate for the big night, the winter spirit wanting to be sure he wasn't going to disrupt North's deliveries with one of the many snowstorms he stirred up for the occasion.

Dropping, Jack floated down towards largest domed roof, topped with glass windows and the vane that channelled the signal of the Aurora Borealis across the world- the Globe Room. Slipping through his usual entrance, Jack touched down and wandered across the thick red carpet, resting his staff over his shoulder, the sounds of clanking, bells and the garbled language of the yetis echoing from somewhere below.

"Hey, North?" He called out, glancing around. "North! You around?"

No reply came. Jack shrugged, taking off in a wisp of cold air to hover above the immense globe that revolved slowly in the centre of the room, two stories high and each of its continents glittering with millions of tiny lights. Peeking over the edge, he had to laugh to see the chaos taking place below. All year round, there were usually toys being made on the many tiered floors of the workshop proper, being constructed, painted, welded, polished and tested by the yetis as the elves skittered around underfoot and found new ways to make nuisances of themselves. But with Christmas Eve only two days away, it had been transformed- North's ice sculptures cleared away and replaced with a mess of festive wrapping paper and bright ribbon. Presents were being wrapped according to the sectors they were to be delivered to, tied with curls of metallic trimming and neatly written labels. The yetis were efficient but panicked, working fast-paced and chattering urgently. The elves were infinitely more relaxed: Jack watched them skitter about, tying each other up with spools of tangled ribbon and creased paper, happily packing each other into empty boxes with entire rolls of sellotape, running around with blank destination stickers slapped over their eyes and waving their arms merrily, some of them festooned in so many present tags that they looked like miniature Christmas trees.

Snorting, Jack jumped down a floor and landed on the smooth wooden railing, balancing expertly in front of a trio of yetis stood conversing seriously. The one with his brown fur tied into bunches at the back of his head pointed him out, and Jack gave a casual salute.

"Hey! Things are looking pretty good here," he grinned, leaning on his staff. "So where's the big guy? Need to talk to him about a couple of things."

Suddenly, the yetis exchanged nervous glances, their concern tangible as they hesitated. Jack's carefree smile disappeared in the space of a heartbeat. "Wait- what? What is it? Where's North?"

The pale grey yeti stepped forwards, mumbling something and gesticulating at Jack, then upwards at the top balcony. Though bemused by their odd behaviour, the winter spirit managed to catch the gist of what he was saying by the despondent yet hopeful look they were giving him, his presence drawing the attention of the others nearby. "Something's happened, hasn't it? Any way I can help?" The yetis nodded eagerly, and the first pointed up again. "I got it. Don't worry, I'll talk to him. He's in his office, right?"

The yetis bobbed their heads in affirmation, and Jack fluttered back up to the upper balcony, leaving a crackling film of hoarfrost over the console that operated the defences of the Pole. The creatures below glanced at each other as he sped out of sight, shrugging helplessly, before quickly returning to work.

Approaching the armoured gilt door of North's office apprehensively, Jack raked his fingers through his hair, a strange sense of unease coiling in the pit of his stomach as he stared at the golden hinges and complex lock gleaming on the dark carved wood. Hesitating for a brief second before persuading himself that it was probably nothing, Jack raised his hand and rapped on the door firmly with the crook of his staff, frost curling from the spot like ivy.

After a moment, a distracted and thickly accented voice called from within. "Nn? Oh- yes, yes- c_ome in_!"

Jack turned the handle and stepped inside, his posture forcibly relaxed. Whilst the workshop floors had been converted into a bustling wrapping and packaging factory, the epicentre of the operation- North's office- was filled with unfurled maps, scrolls written in curlicue script spilling over the edge of every surface, papers littering his desk and weighed down with sculptures of enchanted ice, glittering miniature nutcrackers and airplanes and sailboats. The fire in the stone hearth cracked as the log burned. Oil lamps and soft white candles contained within glasses, lined up in rows upon the rafters and hanging from the low beams and placed in niches in the wall, set the large room ablaze with a serene glow, the windows reflecting their light like black mirrors.

Jack gently pushed the heavy glass and wooden door shut behind him, hearing it click in the frame neatly.

No music. The booming, symphonic music that usually filled the room was conspicuously absent.

_Okay. That's not the best sign._

"Ah, Jack!" North greeted him cheerfully, rising from where he sat at a vast mahogany desk. His voice was as enthusiastic and thundering as ever, but Jack caught the falseness of his smile, the weariness in his broad shoulders, dark hawkish eyebrows slightly too heavy over blue eyes. "Good to see you!"

"You too, North," Jack replied, sending a trail of gauzy ice creeping across the stone floor as he strolled forwards. "Looks like the preparations are going well. I just came to check your route for this year- you know," he said, drawing to a halt a few feet from North's desk, "so I can clear any storms in the area before you make your rounds."

"Yes, yes- excellent-" North was saying absently, flipping through the papers. "Argh, where did I put them…? Yes, of course, we will go over-"

"But first," Jack cut in smoothly, "you're going to tell me what's wrong."

The stiffening of North's shoulders was easy enough to miss. But then, Jack was looking for it- the best mischief-makers need sharp eyes, after all. "Wrong?" North echoed, looking up with a slight frown, pausing in his search. "What do you mean? Things are good, all to schedule. What would make you think there is something _wrong_?"

"Oh, I don't know." Jack shrugged nonchalantly, leaning against his staff. "The fact that you aren't running around on the workshop floors, overseeing every tiny detail with a scary amount of enthusiasm was a bit of a giveaway. Oh, and _then_ there was the fact that the yetis pretty much begged me to get up here and drag you out of this room. And not to mention your obvious distraction and complete lack of general holiday cheer- I mean, you're _Santa Claus_, for crying out loud! It's a little obvious that _something _is up," he pointed out, jabbing his staff in North's direction threateningly. "Now start talking, or I'll go tell the elves that you're going to let them gift-wrap you as a Christmas treat."

North shook his head insistently, voice hardening slightly. "Jack- enough. Is nice you are so concerned, but I am _telling_ you, there is _nothing_-"

"_North_."

That single word was enough to make Nicholas St North- former Cossack, expert swordsman and the Guardian of Wonder, with an army of yetis and the secrets of ancient magic at his command- stop in his tracks and blanch. Jack's eyes were dangerously narrowed underneath his thick, dark lashes, lean body coiled tense with a hand plunged into his pocket, his tone pure ice. All of the flames in the room were flickering, the temperature dropping several degrees in less than a second. It was all too easy to forget, with his easy smile and blasé attitude, that Jack Frost was far more than just the snowballs and fun times he boasted. He was also the Prince of Winter: an elemental spirit, a fierce Guardian, and a protector of children who was to be feared when provoked. North knew as soon as he was confronted with that steel-laced voice that Jack was done playing games, and he was not going to allow himself to be brushed off- not when it concerned a friend and the children of the world.

North sighed, hands raised in surrender instead, unable- or simply unwilling- to keep up the act. "Alright, alright," he grumbled. "There is… _something_. Is not too serious, really, but… I was not expecting it. Not now…"

The room dissolved into silence. Jack waited, gazing at North steadily.

Suddenly the man in red straightened resolutely, slipping something white from the desk and into his pocket. "Come, walk with me. We talk in the Globe Room, yes?"

Jack nodded, remaining carefully neutral as North strode past him purposefully, heading across the wide balcony level towards the wooden crank-operated elevator. As they wound their way through the passing yetis, all of them looking relieved at the reappearance of the two Guardians and their employer's return to some small measure his usual boisterous self, North called out to them to send a batch of cookies up to the operations deck.

"And bring extra raspberry double-chocolate for our guest!" He bellowed. Strolling in North's slipstream through the chaos, Jack cocked a dark eyebrow, amused by the blatant ploy. Only North knew about his taste for summer fruit (Bunnymund would never let him live it down if he found out, and Jack cringed at the thought of how Toothiana would react to so much sugar coming into contact with his as-of-yet flawless teeth), and had taken to quietly spoiling him with an impressive selection of sweets whenever he stopped by: crumbling oatmeal and raisin cookies made with brown sugar and honey, slabs of smooth chocolate embedded with chunks of dried strawberry and apricot, sugar cookies smothered in a hard cherry-flavoured candy.

Jack might be weak for anything sweet- _especially_ raspberry and chocolate, as North had so clearly noticed- but he was no fool. "Don't think you can distract me with cookies, North," he warned as they climbed into the winch elevator.

He could hear the rueful smile in North's reply. "Eh, was worth a shot," he said with a colossal shrug of his shoulders. Jack had to laugh at his honesty.

By the time they reached the balcony level with the light-studded globe, all buoyancy had dissolved into something heavy and tense, weighing down on them like a shroud. North didn't look at him as he handed Jack an envelope, the seal of the top edge ripped by the blunted edge of a letter opener, leaving a mouth of ragged paper.

"What's this?" Jack asked dubiously.

"Just read," North said, suddenly sounding exhausted. He turned, leaning on his hands against the steel console, watching the hollow iron orb spin serenely on its axis. Jack frowned, flipping the envelope over. The address, neatly printed in block letters on the reverse side, didn't surprise him.

The return address, however, did.

"Burgess, Pennsylvania? Wait, is this-?"

"_Read_, Jack."

For once, Jack did exactly as he was told. Pulling the contents out of the envelope unceremoniously, sending a few shreds of torn paper fluttering to the rug as they caught on the crease of the letter, Jack unfolded what he found inside and was confronted by rows of sprawling handwriting in bright turquoise ink.

_'Dear Santa,_

_I've been thinking about what I'd ask for this year, you know, for Christmas. I thought about all of the normal stuff, like new toys and sweets, like I ask for every year, but this time I thought of something really different. I hope you don't mind. See, I know it might be difficult to do, especially since you're probably super busy right now getting ready for Christmas and everything, and you have a lot of other kids asking you for stuff too. But this is really, really a big deal, and I really can't think of anything I want more this year. I know it's probably lot to ask, but it would be really, really, really great if you could do it._

_See, one of my friends- her name is Pippa Mackenzie, do you remember her? She's the one with the short red hair. Anyway, we were talking the other day and she said how much she liked summer, and her big sister used to tell her stories about how there was this fairy princess who makes it warm and sunny wherever she goes, and it kind of sounded like what Jack does, except with snow and frost in the winter! I told Pippa, and I said that this princess might exist, since if there's a winter guardian there should probably be a summer one too. I can tell Pippa really wanted to believe it, but she's still kind of doubtful, since none of our friends knew about the summer princess, and my mom said she'd never even heard of her- which was weird, because my mom knows about Jack, even if she thinks he's not a real person. _

_But I think she's real- the princess I mean- and so does Pippa. So that's what I'd really like this year as a present! If you could get the summer princess to visit Pippa for Christmas, I know it would make her really happy! Plus then I bet she would never stop believing, even as a grown up, if she met her favourite spirit ever! I know it might be hard, since it's winter here and she might not like the cold, being the summer spirit and all. But Pippa wants to meet her so badly, even if she doesn't say it. She won't ask you herself, I know she won't, so I decided to do it for her. That's why it's super important- it's not really for _me_, you know?_

_Anyway, thanks for reading, Santa! Or one of the yetis, if you're reading it for him. He must get a lot of letters, right? Anyway, me and Sophie will be leaving cookies and milk and carrots out on the kitchen counter for when you drop by, just so you know. Do the reindeer actually eat carrots, or do they prefer apples? I never know. I'll have to ask Jack if he drops by._

_Anyway, see you soon! And Jack too, hopefully!_

_Jamie Bennett'_

Jack lowered the letter. North was still observing the globe in its slow revolution, dense patches of reassuringly bright light scattered across the wedges of green metal, stylised white peaks of waves curling against their jagged coasts. "So. The 'summer princess', huh?" He asked, too loudly, too airily, not daring to voice his question in its entirety. North, of course, caught the implication nonetheless.

"Yes. An ancient and very elusive legend," he replied simply. "Among the oldest legendary figures, or so we believe, possibly surfacing in mythology as far back as 100BC. None of us know anything about her, not even real name." He paused. "She has been missing for several centuries."

"_What_?!" Jack exploded, rising a few inches off the ground; a pool of glittering frost formed on the rug underneath where he hovered indignantly, a chill gripping the air that surrounded him. "But- but _how_? She's an elemental, right? So even if the kids stopped believing in her, as long as they can feel her magic, she can't disappear!"

North had told him, not long after he had finally accepted his position as a Guardian, that elemental spirits ran on a separate set of rules to others; that their power was anchored in different places and in different ways. Even after becoming a Guardian, the deepest foundation of their strength remained rooted in the love that children had for what they did, not how deeply they themselves were believed in- because of who they were and what they represented, needing to forever wield the power to protect something that helped keep the world in balance.

"And, you know," Jack blazed on furiously, the bands of frost entwined around his staff beginning to glow eerily, "not to be a traitor to my season or anything, but last time I checked, kids _love_ summer! Why wouldn't they? Long hot days, no school for weeks, fruit and berries everywhere you look…"

The memory of exotic flowers, molten-gold sunshine and a few strands of gleaming hair rose to the surface of his mind, but Jack shook the sight away with a flick of his head.

"Is right, the Summer Princess was elemental- _ach_, well, probably," North sighed heavily, shrugging. "But… we have been searching for centuries, Jack. And the entire of the past two months, too. There is no trace of her. All that there is, all that there has ever been… are rumours. Is like trying to capture smoke with bare hands."

Jack shook his head, glancing back at the letter in his hand.

_'But Pippa wants to meet her so badly, even if she doesn't say it. She won't ask you herself, I know she won't, so I decided to do it for her. That's why it's super important- it's not really for _me_, you know?'_

"Do you think he's right?" He asked abruptly.

"What?"

He held up Jamie's letter. "About Pippa- believing past childhood. Is that even possible?"

North waved a bulky, tattooed arm vaguely, his mind clearly elsewhere as he answered. "Yes, but, is very, very rare. Eternal believers- the few adults who believe- are sensitive to the magic that we, as Guardians or Legends or Myths, put into the world. They may not always see us, but they remember us, and they can feel when we are near. Many even put their own brand of magic back into the world- they write books, create paintings, become teachers, therapists, those who work with the children even we cannot protect…" North shook his head vehemently, the lines of his face turning to granite. "But is pointless to speak of such things now. Is already too late."

Jack's voice turned brittle. "I thought you said that there was _no such thing as too late_."

"Sometimes I am wrong," North said stiffly.

"Not about this!" Jack snapped, his temper rising.

The sound of a little bell suddenly chinked from somewhere near his ankles, and Jack glanced down to see an uncertain-looking elf blinking at him, hesitantly offering up a platter of festively-shaped cookies. Softening, the winter spirit swooped down, switching the letter to his right hand along with his staff, and took his favourite from the stack.

"Thanks," he said, the chocolate hardening between his forefinger and thumb. The elf brightened immediately into a goofy grin and scuttled away with a pattering of bare feet, stealing a cookie from the plate when he thought no one was looking.

"Okay, now listen up, North." Jack forced his voice level, his temper simmering below the surface. "Christmas preparations are on track, and now you have me to help out. Come on- what harm is one more search going to do? Isn't it worth it? For Jamie? One of our fiercest believers? Not to mention… it's probably one of the most selfless letters you've ever gotten, am I right? Don't you think that deserves just… I don't know, just _one_ more chance?"

For one long, painful moment, North was silent. Jack caught sight of the elves peeking out at them, yetis surreptitiously stealing glances as they bustled past with stacks of packages and boxes of ribbon and wrapping paper.

"You're right!" He roared, his fist slamming down on the console so hard that it made Jack jump. The factory activity briefly halted in surprise. "Is decided! Is _not_ too late! Of course you are right. We _must_ try! If we find her- the possibilities- not just for one child, but for countless- yes, we must come up with plan, we fit it around rest of winter work- the summer regions would be best, but we must cover all bases- she could be anywhere-"

Jack sat on the edge of the desk, chuckling and taking a bite of his cookie as he watched North pace back and forth with a newfound fervour, scattering elves like clouds of dust with every looming stride. With the sweetness of cocoa and the sharpness of raspberry melting over his tongue, he couldn't help but feel tremendously satisfied.

When the gibbous moon slid into place in the slice of midnight visible through the skylight, his staff- and the letter- almost slipped from his grasp in shock.

"North," he breathed, his heart suddenly strumming against his ribs.

"- southern hemisphere, means South America, Africa, Australia- maybe we can get Bunny to check there, he is most familiar with area, and Easter is a good few months away, he shouldn't be too busy- him and his 'perishables'-"

"North."

"- we may be able to get Tooth to keep an eye out in the East- maybe even globally, while her fairies are on collection rounds. And perhaps Sandy as well? Who knows, we could-"

"_North_!"

_"What?"_ North turned sharply, looking confused and exasperated at being interrupted mid-thought. Jack jerked his snowy head towards the skylight wordlessly, and the Guardian of Wonder looked up. "Gretchaninov, Manny," he uttered softly, deflating instantly at the sight. "Again? And so soon?"

The celestial light throbbed gently, the moonbeams gathering, narrowing and intensifying until they cast a blue-tinted spotlight on the letter tenuously held in Jack's hand. "Huh? This?" He asked, resting his staff in the crook of his elbow and holding up the folded paper, his pulse racing with anticipation.

Far above their atmosphere, the crescent of the moon shone brighter in reply.

"Manny," North rumbled. "What is it you are saying?"

The spirit of winter shifted impatiently, slipping off the edge of the table as North's brow furrowed, listening silently to whatever the Man in the Moon was telling him. Finally, North's expression turned as bright and clear as the night sky.

"_Well_?" Jack exploded, bursting with impatience. "What did he say?!"

North beamed at him. "Jack… Manny says we are to have company."

Astounded, Jack opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the grinding turn and slam of a large silver lever. The panel roared to life with a gloss of luminous shining blue, and the globe suddenly shimmered, as though the air around it was shifting under a veil. Its lights suddenly splintered and refracted a million times over, the fractures casting a glimmering sheet of rose and emerald light dancing on the interior of the roof, rippling out in vibrant, luminescent ribbons. The magic that was the phenomenon of the northern lights filtered through the complex of brass clockwork inside the spire and split, arching in four different directions across the world.

And so, with one simple request, one of the Man in the Moon's greatest plans was finally set into motion.


	3. Chapter II: Reunion

_A/N: By the stars, I really, really _hate_ writing exposition. I think I did kind of a bad job, since I don't like this chapter very much, but, oh well. I sure hope you do, anyway. If not, please feel free to complain about it._

* * *

Chapter II  
_Reunion_

Her mind drifting lazily towards the surface of consciousness, Rachel rolled over, humming out a low groan from the back of her throat. She was comfortable and warm to her bones, her entire body engulfed in delicious heat, and something in her brain instantly decided that it was not time to get up yet. Snuggling deeper into the groove the mattress had carved out for her overnight, she fell into another dreamless sleep within seconds.

A few hours later, she emerged back from the darkness again, this time roused by a cold, soothing light behind her eyelids. Her mouth tasting unpleasantly of pennies, Rachel flipped herself onto her back and stretched out her limbs beneath the heavy covers, curling her arms above her head and arching her back before slumping straight, golden hair unravelling from its loose ponytail and strewn across her pillow. She realised almost immediately that she wasn't in her bedroom in California: the air was devoid of the chilled fog that swept in off the Pacific overnight, the wide double windows that she always forgot (or pretended to forget) to close were on the wrong side of her bed, and most importantly- she could hear the vague slur and humming beat of music coming from downstairs. In California, she had been almost entirely alone- barring the help that her godmother had hired and any friends who had slept over the previous night. She had been the one to switch the speaker system on every morning, music flooding through the empty rooms as she showered and dressed for school or a long day at the beach.

This was going to take some readjustment, Rachel concluded drowsily, shoving back the covers and clambering inelegantly out of bed, shuddering as her warm flesh hit the cool air. She had dressed in her usual CA nightwear last night- shorts and a grey silk camisole, trimmed with a modesty panel of lace- completely out of habit. Grabbing her dressing gown from where it was draped over a hook beside the ridiculously pretty sheer curtains swathing her bed, she tugged it on, hugging it to herself, and stumbled through the semi-darkness to open the blinds.

The Venetian blind retracted with a tug of cord and a rasping, rattling swish.

"_Ah_-!"

An icy brightness pierced her vision like daggers, forcing her to clamp a hand over her eyelids blindly, feeling them beginning to sting and water with the shock.

"_Son of a_-!"

Rachel cut her curse short, muttering and blinking rapidly in an attempt to regain her sight. As soon as she could see again, however, the irritation drained out of her. Her window was blasted a glaring white, soaking in the light of the late morning and reflecting it five times brighter, the panes of glass crusted in a thick layer of beautiful fern frost.

Rachel shivered, squinting still, and struggled with the stiff latch for a moment; loosening the catch with a twist of her wrist, she threw the window open on its hinges. The garden below was almost too white to look at, smothered in a blanket of fresh glinting snow; hoarfrost was gathered in clumps like strange bright flowers on the bare branches of the trees, the pond frozen with a thick layer of ice, the image utterly pristine but for a set of little paw prints running along the brick wall bordering the far end of the garden. Rachel leaned out of the window, gripping the snow-covered ledge, images of massive gingerbread houses and entire towns encased within miniature snow-globes conjuring themselves out of her awakening mind. Growing up inside this beautiful Victorian house had always felt like some surreal fairy tale- even now, it was almost as though the life-size doll house had been extracted from her own imagination, right down to the last brick, rather than her godmother's refusal to do anything by halves. After the accident that had claimed the lives of Rachel's parents, Anahera had taken on the role of guardian to her best friend's daughter with a grim enthusiasm, putting down the deposit for the grand, crumbling house that was about to be converted into a small complex cramped apartments and transforming it into a home.

Rachel had missed this place, she realised, as she stole downstairs and found music still thrumming at top volume. She had missed her godmother's energy, the mind that spun with whirring clockwork, mad yet brilliant ideas sparking like Catherine wheels in her dark blue eyes, Rachel's strongest link to the world of magic her heart still clung to. Humming along to the song playing on the stereo- _but we are alive, here in Death Valley, but don't take love off the table yet- 'cause tonight, it's just fire alarms and losing you_- she leaned over the walnut staircase railing to peek into the empty kitchen, her gaze immediately falling on the straining shopping bags and enough groceries to last through a full-scale nuclear attack scattered across the kitchen counter: Clementine oranges, sugar, coffee grounds, king-size chocolate bars in glossy purple wrapping, carrots and swedes and tomatoes, flour, a bunch of pungent basil tied together with a blue rubber band, a pot of double cream, a haunch of gammon bound up in string and wrapped in saran, potatoes, maple syrup, a block of butter, a pack of glistening pastries-

"Is that _baklava_?"

"Wouldn't be Christmas without it, now would it?" Anahera replied, amused, as she strode out of the pantry, summoned by her goddaughter's delighted outburst. "I've also picked up ingredients for my classic spicy tomato soup and millionaire shortbread."

Rachel grinned; their Christmases tasted of nuts wrapped in honey-smothered filo pastry, pepper and chilli-infused soup, and the sweetness of salted caramel, dark chocolate and crumbling biscuit. "You're trying to fatten me up, aren't you?" She accused, descending the last few steps, the tie of her dressing gown dragging languidly behind her. "Like the gingerbread witch in _Hansel and Gretel_."

Anahera looked ecstatic. "And here I was thinking that you were too old for fairy tales."

"I _am_." The heavy, beautiful leather-bound book hidden in her suitcase upstairs silently denounced her as a liar. "They have valuable morals, is all."

"Oh, what a shame," Anahera sighed teasingly, unpacking several jars of antipasti- at mushrooms and bell pepper slices and artichoke hearts swishing around in oil and herbs- and placing them up in a high cupboard. "Not even Jack Frost's little visit last night could persuade you?"

"A two thousand-year old, shrivelled-up, supernatural man who has the ability to look into my bedroom window whenever winter hits? Yeah, _that's_ a reason to believe in childhood magic," Rachel replied sarcastically, trying not to let her fluttering pulse show in her voice. "Oh, and let's not forget the jolly annual home invader, the thief with a strange fetish for children's teeth, the 'bunny rabbit' who lures kids away on a search for chocolate and painted eggs, and the guy with the ability to knock kids out for hours on end with magic sand."

Anahera placed a hand over her heart melodramatically, as though wounded. "So jaded for one so young. I don't know where you get it from, darling." There was a twinkle in her eye that made Rachel feel as though she could see right through her ribcage and into her traitorous heart. "And anyway, who says that Jack Frost is some withered old cretin, hm? I hardly think a doddering man like _that_ would be nearly spry enough to be the playful spirit of winter… no," she declared, jabbing a stray carrot in her bemused goddaughter's direction. "It's decided, Rach. _Our_ Jack Frost got to be eternally young and beautiful- cool as ice yet sweet as sugar- a complete heartthrob!"

"Uh-huh, sure, Ana," Rachel said, raking her hand through her tangled hair. She grimaced when she felt it slipping through her fingers, the strands unpleasantly oily. "Ugh. I need a shower. I'll be down in an hour to help with the soup."

Anahera grinned impishly as Rachel disappeared back up the stairs with a swish of heavy red flannel. "Alright. Just remember to close your bedroom window, Rach!" She called up after her. "You never know! Jack Frost might drift past and be tempted to slip in and have his wicked way with you if he sees you undressed!"

"I- _A-Ana!_"

* * *

The tension in the Globe Room could have been cut with one of North's scimitars.

Jack had never been very good at remaining in one place for long. In his human life, his exasperated mother had once called him utterly insatiable, and in his second life as the embodiment of winter, he cheerfully admitted to being downright capricious; he struck up blizzards on a momentary whim, visited isolated glacial valley villages and thriving city centres as he pleased, the intensity of his powers heavily influenced by the quiet, subtle shifting of his mood. Therefore North's decision not to divulge the contents of the Man in the Moon's message, instead striding powerfully away to oversee something unknown before the arrival of the others, had been somewhat asking for trouble. Out of courtesy Jack was valiantly resisting the urge to glaze the entire factory floor in a layer of frost- or to slip away for a few minutes to stir up a snowstorm somewhere over the Atlantic, the latter being the safer option of the two, judging by the multitude of North's yetis and their appropriately suspicious surveillance of him- but being cloistered up here in the warmth, unable to do anything but idly wait, was already beginning to grate on him. Patience was a strong suit of his, as proven by three centuries of almost complete isolation- but idleness automatically meant boredom, and Jack could almost feel his blood itching in his arteries in protest of the very idea.

Jack glanced up at the moon, its pallid shade visible despite the first slow, brightening broach of morning. As ever, its inhabitant was enigmatically silent. Jack sighed. Trying not to feel snubbed, he summoned a blade of ice out from the moisture in the air with a crackle of distinctive cold blue light, letting it drop into his waiting hand. Almost absentmindedly, he began walking the blade back and forth along his fingers in a fresh attempt distract himself from the curiosity gnawing away at the tethers of his self-restraint, deftly flipping it back over with his thumb to repeat the motion.

"Is new. You are improving, _da_?"

Jack jumped, and looked over at North, who had seemingly reappeared out of nowhere. "Huh? Oh, that." He tossed the dagger over into his open palm, its facets winking back at him, the intricacies of the flaws and tiny bubbles trapped within the ice making it sparkle like cut glass. Compared to the rudimentary knives he had started with- all of which had been little more than sharpened icicles, really- this was a little sturdier, far sleeker, crafted from an astoundingly blue ice that had the exact shade and brilliance as its maker's eyes. "Yeah, I've been trying a few things out recently. Even for an elemental, belief can be a pretty strong boost, I guess. Must be a Guardian thing. Still-"

As though to make a point, Jack grabbed the knife and rammed its tip into the wooden desk beside him. The weak blade snapped, shattering to the hilt, shards of ice scattering across the floor.

North winced. "Ah."

"Yeah. And that's _glacial_ ice. It's like the winter equivalent of diamond, that stuff, ridiculously hard. Anything made out of that should cut through wood like it was butter."

North smiled encouragingly from beneath his beard as Jack tossed the broken, cracked handle away in disgust. "Patience, Jack. It has only been three years. Is still remarkable work."

The younger Guardian grunted noncommittally, looking away with frustration glittering in his eyes. North was struck by how much Jack sounded like a sulking teenager.

Before the big man in red could make an amused comment about how much of a perfectionist the so-called careless spirit was turning out to be- and gently reassure him that all he needed now was a little time, and they had plenty of that on their hands- the sound of grinding hinges and heavy doors clattering on steel bolts echoed up from somewhere below, accompanied by the brittle roar of the northern wind as it gusted through the labyrinth of the lower chambers. Jack immediately perked up. There was only one Guardian who used the obscure ground-floor entrance- and it was also the same who was also most likely to be first to arrive, thanks to his much-boasted speed.

Jack cocked his snowy head as a distinct Australian dialect sliced through the welcomes of the yetis, snarling about how cold it was and that North had better have a bloody good reason for calling him all the way out here- and Jack smirked at the confirmation, lighting up at the rapidly unfurling opportunity to provoke his fellow Guardian.

North noticed, and promptly shot him a warning look. "_Jack_…"

The winter spirit slipped a hand into his pocket and began to chuckle at the parquet floor deviously, his crisp white fringe falling forwards to hide his eyes, fingers strumming along the twisted handle of his staff as he began hastily plotting. North grumbled, resigned to the inevitable. There was no stopping the immortal boy once he had gotten an idea into his head.

"Alright, so come on, North, what the hell was so bloody important that you drag me all the way out into your freezing wasteland in the middle of-"

"Bunny!" Jack sang out pleasantly, his smile nigh upon angelic as he looked up at the newcomer. "Nice of you to join us!"

E. Aster Bunnymund, known to the children of the world as the Easter Bunny, cut a striking figure. All imposing, sinewy six-foot of him was armed with his patented saw-toothed boomerangs and an assortment of deceptively brightly-painted egg bombs, the amber-jewelled gauntlets strapped to his forearms glinting and the thick fur of his broad shoulders trailing a light dusting of snow as he strode in- but the shock of Jack's voice stopped the anthropomorphic warrior as suddenly as though he had walked into a solid concrete wall. For a moment he stood frozen, staring at the grinning winter spirit, his long ears flicked back in shock.

Jack adopted his best innocent expression as Bunny began to sputter like a stalled engine. "What the- how the- but- _how the hell did you get here before me, Frost?!_" He jabbed a digit at Jack incredulously, his emerald gaze snapping towards North.

Before North could so much as open his mouth respond, Jack interrupted gleefully. "Ah, _well_," he replied, leaning forwards on his balls of his feet, positively giddy with mischief. "Guess _that's_ kind of obvious, huh, Bunny? I mean, if we both got the signal at the same time, there's only one possible-"

"No way are you faster than _me_, mate!" Bunnymund exploded indignantly, hobbling with as much dignity as he could muster over to the large, deep fireplace in the centre of the room. Gripping the stone mantelpiece with one paw, he began thawing out his feet, the tribal patterns dyed into his grey fur bristling and rippling in its billowing heat. He glared across at North, who held up his hands defensively. "He is _not_ faster than me!"

"I never said-" North began placatingly.

"_North!_"

The whirr of stained-glass wings and a vibrant swirl of enamelled green and blue gilded feathers cut across North's protests. Toothiana shot down from the vast skylight, her magnificent golden plumage gleaming beneath a few stray melting snowflakes, iridescent gauzy wings a blur and several of her mini fairies orbiting her anxiously. A few broke away from her and drifted off towards Jack, greeting him with a series of bright chirps. His respectful half-bow in their direction caused them to squeal in delight, flocking and fluttering around him adoringly like hummingbirds around a hibiscus.

"Tooth," North welcomed her, relieved by her timely interruption. "Come in; thank you for coming so quickly."

"When I saw the lights, I- and so close to Christmas, too- I thought that maybe-" Toothiana flitted about uneasily, her violet eyes darting around the room searchingly. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Relax, Tooth," Bunnymund assured her in a soothing tone, switching feet and wriggling his toes to return proper blood flow. "We're all clear."

"Not that he would know, of course," Jack spoke up lightly, unable to resist a jab as he pivoted to face away from the others, "considering he only arrived thirty seconds ago. Me, on the other hand, well I-"

"_You are not faster than me, Frostbite!_"

Toothiana looked perplexed.

North sighed, exasperated. Mercifully, the last of their number chose to make his entrance right at that very moment- heralded by a single wisp of golden dust, the Sandman soared down at the reigns of a gloriously ornate chariot drawn by a pod of dolphins, their powerful streamlined tails and dorsal fins cutting through the air, the entire creation sculpted from glowing dream-sand and billowing swirls of the glowing magic behind it like war banners. Swathed in gold mist, the Sandman looped around the globe twice before jumping off, coasting towards the balcony with a warm smile as his chariot dissolved into ether.

"Sandy-" North began hastily, attempting head any argument off at the pass, "thank you for resp-"

"Oi, Sandy! Tell this walking snowman that _he is not faster than me!_"

Sandman paused as he touched down, glancing with a somewhat nonplussed expression between the openly seething Bunnymund and the back of Jack's shoulders, which were shaking underneath the thick fabric of his sweatshirt with tremors of muffled laughter. Sandy looked over at North and cast up a few grains of dream sand, forming a question mark above the shock of his hair, eyebrows contracting mildly.

North waved a huge palm wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Does not matter, Sandy, is… is just good you are here."

Sandman shrugged good-naturedly and accepted a deep, bejewelled cup of eggnog from a nearby yeti with a silently obliged nod as North turned back to the others. "We have more important things to deal with." He aimed a stern gaze in Jack's direction at this and saw him turn slightly, eyes still hidden under his fringe, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards in an utterly unapologetic response. North decided to surrender the point.

"Alright. So what did you call us here for?" Bunnymund asked. "Only a couple of days until Christmas Eve, and you send out the signal, so I figure it's got to be-"

"Yes, yes, I know my own deadlines, Bunny," North interjected irritably, the comment touching a particularly sensitive nerve with the Guardian. "In fact, is exactly sixty-seven hours to launch time, as of twelve minutes ago. But as I said. We have more important things to deal with."

"Hey- hey, hang on, North! Are you seriously saying that this is more important than _Christmas_? Your _holiday_?" Bunnymund gaped. "What the bloody hell is going on?!"

Sandman gazed over the brim of his goblet with steady, solemn eyes. Toothiana's wings whirred faster in anxiety, the gentle chirrups of her fairies voicing her concern. Sensing the tension, Jack threw North a look of solidarity. Though he still knew almost nothing about the matter, he was quickly beginning to understand from North's odd behaviour that this concerned far more than simply an obscure legend lost to the ages.

"We may have a lead," North finally intoned slowly, as though testing the weight of each word as he spoke it, "on the whereabouts of the Summer Princess."

From the reaction of the other Guardians- Jack excepted- North may as well have announced that Pitch Black would be dropping in for afternoon tea. It was as though the air had been sucked out of the room; Toothiana's wings stopped beating for a split second, almost letting her drop out of the air and onto to the thick rug beneath her- Sandman paused on what was now his sixth cup of eggnog, staring into its milky depths grimly- Bunnymund's expression disappeared entirely, looking as though emotion had all but been hollowed out of him.

And then he scowled. "North," he said in a dangerously low voice, "if this is just your _belly_ again, I swear I will-"

"This comes direct from Man in Moon," the Cossack replied coolly, gesturing up at the lunar object silently presiding over their meeting. No more objections arose, so North continued.

"Last month, Jack's first believer wrote me letter. He had decided that there was only one thing he wants for Christmas this year: for his friend, a very well-behaved child named Pippa Mackenzie, to meet the spirit of summer. Of course, after so long… well, as you can imagine, my friends, I had little hope of finding her. Why should now be any different to the other times that we have searched? But still, a completely selfless request from our Last Light deserved best shot I had. I searched, and there was nothing. It wasn't until tonight- when I told Jack about the letter- that Manny finally intervened. It seems… well." North's voice turned gravelly with pensiveness, staring up at the incandescent shadow of the moon thoughtfully. "This may not be such an impossible request after all…"

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and the faint crackle and snap of logs burning in the fireplace.

"Hmph. I knew you were lying about beating me here, ya ratbag," Bunnymund shot at Jack, but the insult came without bite and accompanied by the slightest hint of a smile. Jack snickered as the tension dissipated, slipping a handful of fresh cookies from a nearby platter.

"You still fell for it, though."

"So? What does this mean, exactly?" Toothiana cut in, her excitement beginning setting her wings humming double-speed in anticipation.

Sandy stepped forwards suddenly, setting his goblet aside, a crescent symbol and a question mark curling up above his head in swirls of sand as he gestured up at the open skylight. Jack hummed his agreement through a mouthful of sugar and chocolate cookie. "Seconded," he chimed in after swallowing thickly, tilting his head up to look up at the skylight. He held his arms out expectantly, the moon- a few brief days away from being a perfect sphere, a sliver still caught in darkness and dyed a slight tint of blue in the timid break of dawn- shining down upon them through the window. "Well, Man in the Moon? We're listening. What have you got for us?"

And, to everyone's surprise, the moon immediately responded to the winter spirit.

Moonlight pooled fluidly on the floor in front of them, forming a disc of pearl-silver spotlight over the stone tablet inscribed with the Guardian's elaborate insignia. Glancing at each other in a blend of surprise and mild apprehension, the five of them arranged themselves around its perimeter as the light began to shift and change, seeping away, the edges sharpening to form the contours of a shadow: the lissom figure of what looked like a young woman, shrouded in a hooded cloak that blossomed around her like rose petals, both of her arms held aloft as silhouettes of plants flourished all around her, the fruits and flowers attended by bees and exotic birds and huge butterflies. A little hollow of light carved itself in her chest in the shape of a glowing, beating heart.

"It's her," North murmured- for Jack's benefit more than anyone else. "Manny- what happened?"

The image changed. The silhouette suddenly grasped her shadowy hands to her chest as though in pain, and the plants surrounding her contracted, fruits shrinking, flowers wilting, the fauna suddenly settling on the branches as though exhausted. As she bought her hands to her face, almost as though weeping, the figure revealed her heart- now with a crack of darkness yawning deep and sharp down its centre. The girl appeared to sob, curling deeper in on herself.

"Oh," Toothiana said softly, her voice throbbing with sympathy, "_oh_- what could have-?"

"Well, either way," Bunnymund interrupted gently, "seems she was hurt bad enough that her work was suffering. Question is, what did the Man in the Moon do about it? He wouldn't have wanted to lose her…"

Jack watched wordlessly as the shadows of the plants swirled together, reforming into what looked like- Jack's brow knitted slightly in confusion- a thick, heavy book. It opened beneath the motionless figure in a rapid fluttering of pages, and the others released a collective gasp of astonishment as the shadow of the girl fragmented into a cloud of dust and was drawn into the book, its covers slamming shut behind her like a pair of bolted double doors.

"Of course!" Toothiana chattered breathlessly. "_Brilliant_, he sent her-"

"To one of the Realms," Bunny finished with a grin. Sandman beamed, a series of golden images flashing above his head in quick succession. "You got it, Sandy! We should- ugh, well, we'll need to ask for _her_ help, but I figure if you make the request, she'll at least be _civil_, the harpy-"

"Good," North muttered, clapping his massive hands together and rubbing them excitedly. "Good! We have plan! We have direction! But we must hurry, we have limit of time-"

"Uh, guys?" Jack ventured, waving to catch the attention of the other clearly elated Guardians, each distracted by their rapidly forming plans. "_Guys_!" The four of them turned, their expressions a range of exasperated, impatient and questioning. "Yeah. Kind of in the dark here still. What's with the book? And what's this about some 'realm'?"

Bunnymund was the first to recover from the unexpected reminder that their newest Guardian was still a little out of the loop on many of the things they took for granted. "Oh, right. Sorry, mate. Well, first off, you ever heard of immortal believers?"

"Sure," Jack said with a deliberately nonchalant shrug, quietly pleased that he had been listening earlier. "North told me- they're the kids who believe in us past childhood, right? A lot of them become artists, or work with kids, or write books-"

"Exactly!" Toothiana interjected, zooming a short distance to hover next to him. "If you know about immortal believers, then I'm sure you've been told that their imaginations generate a very rare kind of magic, right?" Jack nodded mutely at the fairy, still wondering where this was going. "That magic- it's powerful. Powerful enough to create whole _worlds_." Her eyes glittered like amethysts, jubilation making her almost luminous. "An immortal believer- they can dream up a fantasy world that runs on their own set of rules, contains all sorts of impossible things, and use in a book or in a painting or in a theatre script- or, well, pretty much _anything_, actually- and it can become _real_. Even if they've only imagined a fragment, a snapshot of that world, imagination always stretches further- and the rest of the Realm creates itself."

Jack blinked, soaking her words in. "So these worlds," he said slowly, "these are the Realms you guys are talking about? Places that immortal believers have created without even knowing it? Like, for instance… I don't know…" Jack rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, racking his mind for the stories he had heard over the centuries through the cracks in the frames of fogged-up windows or upon snow-dusted chimney tops late at night, when parents were putting their children to bed with a fairy tale and the assurance that there were no monsters in the closet. "… Neverland? Wonderland? Places like that?"

"Just like those, yes," said North, checking over a few documents that Phil had bought him whilst the others were talking. He signed them with an understated flourish and handed the clipboard back. "And many more, with entrances scattered all over the globe. Sandy knows quite a number of them-" The Guardian of Dreams smiled slightly as North gestured in his direction, "- naturally, as some children go there during sleep."

"Alright." Jack muttered, running his fingers through his hair and leaving the silvery strands more artfully tousled than ever. "Still don't get why you guys are so eager to jump into action, though."

As he had expected, the others immediately began to simmer in disbelief.

"_Tch_! Are you kidding, mate?"

"This is best lead in centuries!"

"This is _huge_, Jack!"

"Sure, sure it is, and I'm not denying that," Jack rebuffed easily, reclining his torso back against the strong, slim length of his staff. "Just, um- well, there are a lot of these Realms, right?"

"Sure."

"Thousands."

"More than you make snowflakes, Frostbite."

"Well, alright then. Let me ask you this: other than the fact that it's from a book," Jack gestured at the blurred, waning shadow with the end of his staff, "what exactly do you know about this specific world- or, Realm? Do you know where the entrance is? Or, you know, just for starters… do you even know _which_ of these fantasy worlds the Princess of Summer was sent to?"

The identical, frozen looks of shock and abashed realisation on the other Guardian's faces said it all. Jack lifted his hand to his mouth, biting down on the knuckle of his index finger to smother the laugh threatening to bubble out.

"Ah, well, we- that's- uh, Manny?" North directed an awkward gaze at the moon hovering in stasis above them.

For the briefest flicker of a second, Jack could swear that he could hear a mildly exasperated sigh echoing out of the shafts of pearlescent light shining down, before the moonbeams shifted. Once more the shadow painted against the stone floor changed, swirling into two separate profiles as the Guardians clustered to watch: one shape the stiff, clunky outline of what looked like a wooden toy soldier in a tall hat, standing to attention, the other a delicate prima ballerina in a tiara, poised prettily on the tips of her toes.


End file.
